


Ne Vaut pas le Risque

by MarJayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Language Translation, M/M, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarJayne/pseuds/MarJayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel AU. Set in Paris in 1893. Dean Winchester lives in Paris and his world is turned upside down when dark-haired Castiel enters his life. Little does he know the secret Castiel is keeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Paris, 1893**

“Bonjour, Monsieur Winchester!”

Dean waved to the young children passing outside the bar and smiled. These children had become his first friends when he had moved to Paris, and now passed by every morning to say hello. He wiped down the bar counter with his filthy rag as he waited for his first customer of the day. Within minutes, a tall man with wild black hair walked in, a suitcase in each hand.

“Bonjour,” he said, “Je cherche pour... un... appartement.” His French was broken and bad, but Dean grinned at him.

“Quel est ton nationalité?” he asked, his French perfect after his first year in Paris.

“Je suis Americain.”

“Oh, Americain? Moi, aussi. Parlez-vous anglais?”

“Yes” the man answered, a look of relief on his face.

“I’m Dean Winchester, Kansas native.” 

The mystery man smiled, “Castiel Novak. New York, New York.”

"Hello, Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you. What brings you to Paris?"

“Travel... and of course, why else would I be in Paris if I wasn’t looking for love?”

Dean grinned, “To tell you the truth, Castiel, that’s part of the reason I’m here, too. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I need to find a small flat to rent while I’m here, and that takes priority over a drink at the moment.”

“Of course. There’s a few vacancies in my building, over there,” he pointed to a dilapidated two-story building, “I could talk to the landlord if you’d like.”

“Could you really? Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

~

One week later, Castiel had a job, working in a small café across from Dean's bar on Montmartre. Dean had spoken to his landlord and had gotten Castiel one of the vacant flats in the building. He was loving Paris, his favorite part being the nightlife, which Dean had taken him out to his first night in the city. 

His French was still terrible, but he was able to understand and speak much better than he had been the week before. Castiel smiled and walked into the small boulangerie next to his building. He didn’t need to be at work for another hour, and Dean had invited him to breakfast, requiring Castiel to buy a baguette. He paid and walked back to the building, a new spring in his step, excited to eat with Dean. Castiel couldn’t help but feel like this was a friendship that was almost too good to be true, but he ignored the nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him it was a bad idea to get involved with anyone.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

~

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel said, tapping on his open door. He smiled, baguette in hand. Dean looked up from the book he was reading and smiled, inviting Castiel in. 

“Good morning! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, thank you. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” Dean set his book down, walking over to take the baguette from Castiel.”Why don’t you have a seat?” he continued, clearing his small table of a few books and a stack or two of paper.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, a soft smile playing over his lips. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have much. I should have thought about it before I invited you over. I have some jam, and that’s about it.”

“That’s fine. But that’s the starving artist life isn’t it? Living off of bread while we struggle to find ourselves?”

Dean huffed out a laugh and ripped a chunk out of the bread, much to Castiel’s shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shook his head. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to eat some of it on the way back?” he asked, a smirk growing on his face.

“No slicing?”

“No slicing. Come on, Cas...tiel. Try it!”

Castiel was horrified. Eating with his hands? It was hardly civilized. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean shoved a chunk of the fresh bread into his mouth.

“Dean!” he protested, the bread warm and soft.

“I can’t hear you. I think you have bread in your mouth.” Dean laughed, running a hand through his hair.

Castiel chewed and swallowed. “How did you learn to eat like this? It honestly terrifies me. I’m not used to it.” He shook his head, reaching to rip another chunk of bread off of the loaf.

“Are you going out tonight?”

“I might. I’ve been wanting to see the Moulin Rouge.”

Dean smiled wolfishly. “Then we’ll go. I love the Moulin Rouge.”

“You don’t have to come,” Castiel said, coughing into his hand. He took a deep breath, looking down and hoped for the best. Nothing. He exhaled in relief.

“Castiel you barely speak French. I can’t let you loose on the streets of Paris just yet.”

“Dean-”

“No. Besides, I’m your friend,and I can’t let you go alone. Leaving, though. That’s a different story.” He smirked at Castiel, rising from his place.

Castiel felt his face grow warm, and he looked down at the floor. “I- I should probably get to work.”

“Yes,” Dean said, huffing out a laugh. “Tonight, though. Nine o’clock.”

Castiel smiled. “Nine o’clock.” 

~

“Au revoir!” Castiel called as he exited the small café, walking the few blocks back to his building. As he made his way up to his flat, he realized he had some time to read a bit, maybe even write. He smiled, realizing this was the first time he would get to write in Paris. But when he grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, he realized he had nothing to write about yet. Sighing, he set them both down and ran a hand through his hair. 

_Not yet, Castiel,_ he thought, smiling sadly to himself. _Not yet. Soon. Something, at least, before..._ his thoughts were interrupted by a coughing fit, Castiel doubling over from the force. 

“Damn,” he muttered, breathing heavily. He looked at his hand and found that it was tinged with blood, his eyes growing wide. “No,” Castiel whispered, frantically searching for a handkerchief in his pockets and wiping the blood away. He sat heavily on his bed, head in hands. This wasn’t supposed to be happening now. Not when he had just gotten to Paris and made a friend.

He should never have gotten involved with anyone. 

Castiel lay down on his bed, curling to one side, suddenly feeling faint. Maybe going out with Dean wasn’t the best idea, but he had committed. He closed his eyes, slowly falling asleep.

~

Castiel woke to Dean knocking on his door and calling his name. He jumped up quickly from his bed and ran to the door, attempting to smooth his hair out. Opening the door, he smiled at Dean.

“Sorry,” he said, “how long have you been knocking?”

“About two minutes.”

“Is it already nine?”

“It’s a quarter past. When you didn’t show up, I thought you had forgotten.” 

“No. I just... fell asleep.”

“Long day?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel lied, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

“Are you still up for-”

“Yes. God, yes. I need to get out of my flat.”

Dean led him out to the street, and they walked up the hill to the Moulin Rouge, the red windmill sitting atop the building, welcoming them.

“So, this is the Moulin Rouge?” Castiel asked, stepping up to the door.

“This is,” Dean answered, “let’s go in.”

Castiel chuckled nervously, “all right.”

The two entered the building, the music that was faint outside becoming much louder. Dean looked over to Castiel and smiled, the other man’s eyes the size of discs, taking in the club.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“It’s- certainly... new.” Castiel was nervous and it was showing.

“You nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be. You won’t have any problems here.” Dean grinned.

“Meaning I won’t be leaving with you?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh.” He followed Dean to a table where they sat, Castiel still looking around at the building. He was completely amazed by the grandeur of the room. The music, he decided, was his favorite. It was upbeat and fun, then he noticed the dancers.

His jaw dropped; it was amazing, to see so many women in the same place as he was. Then, the main performer of the night did her piece, and he was amazed by her.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Dean asked, an hour into their excursion.

“This is fantastic!” Castiel smiled, looking down shyly.

“Go dance,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows and smirking.

“No, that’s really fine. I’m not much of a dancer,” Castiel confessed, laughing a bit. “I’ve never been much of a dancer.” His stomach twisted into a knot at this, and he wasn’t   
sure why.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, neither am I.” Dean chuckled, “I guess we’ll just have to sit this one out, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Is this what you had in mind when you thought about the Moulin Rouge?”

“I had a much less... spectacular image in mind.”

“I understand that. I was disappointed my first time here.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The stories I had heard- they were amazing, and I’d been hearing them for months, so imagine my disappointment when it didn’t live up to the stories.”

“Didn’t live up to the stories?”

“The dancers, their stories of the women...”

“Ah.”

“The dancers are beautiful, though. Aren’t they?”

“Yes. Quite.”

Castiel smiled, placing both if his hands on the table. He gestured with his head that he was ready to leave. He was tired, most likely from his earlier coughing fit, and he wanted to sleep. Dean stood and offered Castiel his hand to help him up, and he took it gratefully, standing. The two walked out of the Moulin Rouge together, and both were silent, Castiel left to his thoughts.

“Didn’t you say... leaving was a different story?” He asked this tentatively, not sure how Dean would respond.

“I did, didn’t I? I never said you _wouldn’t_ be leaving with somebody.”

“Dean, what are you trying to sa-” Castiel was cut off as Dean whisked him around the corner of the building.

“Are you surprised?”

“No,” Castiel answered, entwining his fingers through Dean’s. His eyes shone a brighter blue as he leaned into Dean, their lips meeting softly. Dean smiled into the kiss, bringing his free hand up to the back of Castiel’s neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel smiled as he woke the next morning, memories of the night before still running through his mind.

_“That was… unexpected.”_

_“I’m sorry. I just got ahead of myself.”_

_“It’s fine, Cas. Really.” Dean cleared his throat. “You know, we could be-”_

_“But what if someone found out? I couldn’t do that to you, Dean.”_

_“This is Paris. We’re fine.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

A knock sounded at his door, and Castiel rose from his bed, rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair. He opened the door a crack, peering out into the hallway.

“Morning, Castiel,” Dean said, a wolfish grin on his face. 

Castiel cleared his throat. “Hello, Dean.”

“Are you going to invite me in?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, yes of course. Come in.” As he swung the door open, Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel’s mouth, propelling the two of them into Castiel’s small flat. “Dean!” Castiel said, grabbing onto his shoulders as they fell to the ground.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean stood, helping Castiel to his full height. “You awake now?” he asked, smirking.

“Slightly,” Castiel answered, smiling sleepily. He turned away from Dean, looking down.

“Are you okay?” Dean inquired, his voice going soft.

“Yes. I’m fine, Dean.”

“If it’s about last night, I-”

“No,” Castiel said, turning back to Dean. “Last night- last night was fantastic, Dean. I had the time of my life.”

“I’m glad, Castiel.” Dean looked at his feet, attempting to hide a grin.

“I can see that. You’re smiling.”

“What? No I’m not.”

Castiel shook his head at Dean. “Don’t pretend you aren’t.”

“I’m not smiling,” Dean said, looking up at Cas, his face a mask showing no emotion.

“I don’t believe you for one second, Dean Winchester.”

“Fine, don’t believe it.”

Castiel smiled. He felt his chest tighten. “Excuse me,” he muttered, fishing through the pockets of his pajamas for a handkerchief, pulling one out in time for him to cough violently into it. He took a deep breath before checking for blood, praying that it was only a coughing fit. His heart dropped as he saw the red spots on the cloth, and he quickly wiped away any traces on his face.

“Castiel are you all right?”

He nodded, his chest heaving. Castiel knew what was coming next. “Go,” he said, waving Dean away, his voice wheezy. 

“Cas-”

“Dean, I’m fine. I just… need a moment. Go, enjoy your morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you after the café closes this afternoon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Castiel.” Dean kissed him softly. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” 

Castiel could feel his chest tightening again, and after he had seen Dean out, he doubled over, coughs racking his body.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, grimacing. “It’s too fast. It’s too fast. This can’t be happening.Not now. Not when I’ve just gotten to Paris. Not when I have this, have Dean. I have someone for god’s sake.”

~

“Merci, Monsieur Novak. Vous êtes vraiment un travailleur spectaculaire.”

“Merci, er, de rien. Au revoir. À demain?” Castiel smiled at his supervisor, taking his apron off and hanging it on a hook.

“À demain.”

Castiel nodded and headed out the back door of the café, the sun warming his face as he looked up into the sky.

“Fancy meeting you here, Castiel,” a voice said to his left.

“Dean? I wasn’t expecting you to be here as soon as we closed. You’re usually still working.”

“True. Slow day at the bar.”

Castiel laughed, his eyes lighting up. “So they let their best bartender go early?”

“No. I was only scheduled for that time block.”

“Ah. All right.”

“How were things for you today?” Dean asked, beginning the short walk to their building. 

“Steady, compared to last Friday. It was extremely busy last week. And I was even beginning my training then.”

“The work is treating you well, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And I’m learning more French every day, even though I studied it in school.”

“School?”

“Yes, back in New York. School was the most amazing thing that could have happened to me. I was so lucky to be able to study.”

“Why did you leave, then?”

“I-” Castiel paused, racking his brain for an answer that would still leave Dean in the dark. “I became disillusioned with society. I wanted to travel.”

“But why Paris? Why not London, Rome or Madrid?”

“Everyone has been to London, and I had no desire to go to Italy or Spain. I wanted it to be France.”

“Any particular reason?”

 _It’s the place I had already told myself I wanted to live out the rest of my days_ , Castiel thought as he frowned.   
“Castiel?”

“Uh, I’ve always had a desire to live in France- to experience it for myself. At least, before I die.”

“Isn’t that a little morbid? You have an entire life ahead of you, Cas.” 

“Not really,” he murmured, praying Dean wouldn’t hear him. “Yes, I suppose so. A whole life.”

He stopped walking for a moment, imagining that life. A long life, where he could grow old with someone; he could have children and grandchildren. Shaking his head, he began walking again, leaving Dean behind.

“Castiel, wait!”

“What?” He turned to see Dean running after him.

“You shouldn’t think and walk at the same time. You’re too fast.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiled sheepishly. “I can’t help it, Dean. I get lost in my thoughts too much.”

“You’re a writer, aren’t you?”

Castiel was slightly taken aback. He eyed Dean questioningly. “How-”

“It’s what you just said. ‘Getting lost in your thoughts’. Only writers talk like that. You’re a writer who’s a hopeless romantic who moved to Paris to write and, if at all possible, to find someone to fall in love with. Tell me, Castiel: have you written anything yet?”

“I-” Dean silenced him with a soft kiss.

“You haven’t, have you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French-English translation:
> 
>  
> 
> "Thank you, Mr. Novak. You really are a spectacular worker. "
> 
> "Thank you, er, you're welcome. Goodbye. See you tomorrow? "
> 
> "See you tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

_Another lie_ , Castiel noted as he walked away from the bar where Dean worked. It was getting ridiculous- the lies about why he was often ill; why he was often unable to go out like he had been able to months ago. He couldn’t tell Dean. It wasn’t worth worrying him to the point of sickness, which he knew Dean would do. 

He’d tried everything he could to keep his illness from Dean, but it wasn’t enough anymore, with the amount of time they were spending together. Almost every night was filled with hushed voices and passionate kisses, either in Castiel or Dean’s flat, depending on who arrived first in the evening. Castiel hoped he could get some writing done before Dean got off work. It was a beautiful day, and he had inspiration for the first time in days. This would be it, the right idea. Finally, something to write about that wasn’t death. Castiel shook his head, getting the idea out of his mind.

_Death is boring_ , he thought, walking down the street, letting the sun warm his face slightly. _It’s not what I expected. I figured I would be becoming weaker, but I don’t feel that. Maybe the doctors were wrong. Maybe I’m not going to-_ Castiel’s thoughts were interrupted as he tripped on a crack in the ground, his arms pinwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. After he was settled, Castiel continued his walk to his building. He grinned, realizing things were looking up for him. 

~  
“Cas? You home?” Dean called through the door. Castiel looked up from the papers he had strewn around the floor and the small table he used to write. He shifted so the papers were in some sort of neat pile, then stood to let Dean in.

“Hello,” he said, opening the door, his face breaking into a grin as he saw Dean. "Come in."

"So formal," Dean replied, swiftly stepping into the flat and closing the door behind him. "How have you been today?"

Castiel shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. Work is becoming much more stressful. And I haven't been able to write much."

"Then why don't you quit at the café? You came here to write, so why shouldn't you be doing what you love?"

"Dean, I can't afford to keep this flat and just drop the job. It doesn't work like that." He shook his head. _How can he expect me to drop everything and write? I'm fine. I'm obviously getting better. I haven't-_ Castiel's thoughts were interrupted as he doubled over, coughs coursing through his body. 

"Cas? Castiel? Can you hear me?" Dean grabbed Cas' shoulders to keep him from falling over. "Are you all right?" He asked, looking hard at Castiel.

"M'fine. Just a little cold, is all." _Liar_ , a voice hissed through his head. "Maybe you should go home. Tonight isn't a good night. I'm sorry.”

“It’s alright, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow after I get off. But I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Castiel looked at Dean, awaiting the inquiry.

“I want you to be able to write. Without stress. And-”

“And?”  
“Castiel Novak, please do me a favor and quit your job at the café.”

“Dean, that’s not a question. It is simply a request.” Castiel paused, his breath coming short after his coughing fit. “And it’s one that I can’t honor. Not with me needing to keep this flat for myself.”

“Castiel, will you _please_ shut up? I wanted to ask you to move into my flat… with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel woke up, the flat empty. He stood and walked to the closet to dress. For a moment, he stared at the clothes, wondering if getting dressed was even worth it. He had been to see a doctor about his illness, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. It was a stupid idea to have moved into Dean’s flat; he would be able to see Castiel deteriorate more and more every day, and it wasn’t what Dean needed. Luckily, Cas had gotten a lot of writing done, and he was almost halfway through what he thought would be an excellent book. 

It was the process of dying he wrote about, and no matter how many times Dean begged to read some of it, he always shook his head. “Not until I’m finished,” Castiel would say, smiling sadly. This continued, day in and day out. Dean would ask,and Castiel would provide the same answer as always. What Dean didn’t understand was that Castiel would never be finished with his writing. Especially not with what little time he did have left. A month, if he was lucky.

~

“Good evening, Cas,” Dean said, swooping in behind the man and kissing his cheek. Castiel jumped, looking back to find Dean laughing.

“Dean, that was not funny! I found it quite terrifying.”

“You’re rather adorable when you’re upset. And you also become Mr. Novak, not Cas.”

“Nothing wrong with a proper way of speaking.” Castiel frowned. He gathered his papers and tucked them into the brown portfolio Dean had given him as a housewarming gift.

“Can I-?”

“Not until I’m finished, Dean. You know that.” 

“Worth a shot, I suppose.”

Castiel grinned at him. “I promise you’ll get to read it in time.” _Sooner than you think, too._

“Good. I know you’re an excellent writer, and I can’t wait to see it.” Dean kissed Castiel softly, pulling away slightly and smiling. “The Moulin Rouge tonight?” he asked, turning around.

“I… suppose.” Truthfully, Castiel had no desire to leave the flat. He barely had the energy to get out of bed anymore. But Dean couldn’t know. He couldn’t know that anything was wrong. Not until it was too late for him to do anything about it. 

“All right. We’ll leave in ten minutes, then. Get changed.” Dean grinned and sauntered off to the bedroom, Castiel following suit. 

“Would you mind…?” Castiel asked behind him, gesturing to his suit, which was hanging primly next to Dean’s.

“Of course. Here you are, Monsieur Novak. The finest suit for you to wear to the Moulin Rouge tonight.” 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

~

“Would you like anything to drink?” Dean asked, getting up from his and Cas’ table.

“Just a glass of wine, thank you. I need to keep my wits about me tonight.” He could feel his chest tightening, and Castiel took a deep breath, willing himself to stay well until he got home that night. Then he could let it out. Not here, where people were watching, seeing every move. If he was ill, it would attract attention that he didn’t need. He was perfectly content to be left alone, though he had made friends in his short time in Paris. 

After a moment, Castiel realized his efforts, though valiant, were in vain, and he pulled his handkerchief out, coughing violently. He pulled it away from his mouth, praying for it only to be dotted with blood. He sighed in relief as he saw nothing, but his relief was short-lived as he continued to cough. As he pulled the handkerchief away this time, he saw it was soaked in his own blood, and his eyes grew wide in panic. “No,” he whispered before slumping sideways, the world going black around him.

~

Dean made his way back to the table, laughing as he heard jokes in passing, his mood soaring. He stopped short when he saw Castiel slumped against the back of the seat, his eyes closed. “Castiel?” he asked quietly, knowing that if he were alert, Castiel wouldn’t have heard him. “Castiel!” Dean shouted, running over to him, the wine carelessly falling from his hand. “Castiel, please, wake up. Cas. Cas!” 

He looked around helplessly, lost for words. “Help,” he choked out, taking a shaky breath. “SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!”


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel woke to Dean standing over him, a damp cloth in his hand. “Dean?” he asked, his voice hoarse, “what happened?”

“You, uh, you lost consciousness. Last night. There was blood- everywhere.”

“Oh god,” Castiel whispered, slowly bringing a hand to his forehead.

“The doctor came. He said something, Cas.”

“What? Tell me. Dean, I need to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Dean. I wasn’t planning on any of this happening. I was going to live the rest of my days out in peace, away from my family. They wouldn’t have treated me like a normal person- I would have been locked away like some sort of animal. I had to go somewhere. Somewhere nobody knew me, and I could be…”

“Normal, Cas? Well congratulations, you did it! And you ended up hurting a lot more people than necessary.”

“Dean, I-”

“Save it. I can’t believe you.” 

“What did the doctor say?”

“You have a week, Castiel. A _week_. Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I was. I was going to tell you… when it was too late for you to do anything. I- I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“So, you still would have been like this when you told me?”

“Yes. I would have. But I was supposed to have a month.”

“If you were lucky. I talked to the doctor. I know everything that you’ve been hiding from me, Castiel. Don’t tell me you’re all right. I know you aren’t.”

“I’m-”

“What are you, Cas, sorry? Sorry that the one person I care about most in this world is dying and I can’t do anything about it? Sorry that you’re just going to leave me all alone? Sorry that you let yourself get too close to anyone? I hate you, Castiel Novak.” Dean turned sharply away from the bed.

“Dean, please don’t say that.” Castiel took a ragged breath. “Please, that’s not what I need to hear from you.”

“Well, I’m saying it anyway because it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be dead in a week, so I can say whatever I want to you, Castiel. Fuck you and your stupid disease. I-”

“I love you.”

Dean turned back to Castiel. “What?”

“I love you, Dean Winchester. And maybe it’s not enough to get you to change your mind, but I needed to let you know. There are many things I should have done, and telling you about this before my death was closer is one of them. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love you, and it doesn’t change anything in the past few months. I also know that I spent my last months well, and I wouldn’t wish it were any different, though you may wish it were.”

“Castiel, I wish you had told me earlier.”

“I kno-”

“But I, too, wouldn’t change anything. You have to know that. You have to know that I love you more than anything. And I wouldn’t be saying any of this if I didn’t know. I don’t hate you, I hate your illness. I hate that you’ve kept it a secret. But I’m going to be here through the end of it, Castiel. I can promise you that.”


	6. Chapter 6

"I love you."   
Castiel stirred at the words, slowly coming to and sitting up in the bed. “Dean?” he asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What’s-” he broke off, coughing, blood trickling down his chin.   
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, walking toward him. He reached out and wiped away the blood on Castiel’s face with a handkerchief, his face bearing no emotion. “How are you feeling?”  
“Horrible. I feel horrible. I just want to sleep and I want to…”  
“Cas, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay, you understand?”  
“Don’t lie to me, Dean.”  
“It’s not going to be okay, Castiel. I know that. You know that. But can’t we just pretend for a little bit that everything will be okay? Please?”  
“No. You can’t pretend everything is fine because it’s not.” He took in a shaky breath, his blue eyes piercing against the paleness of his skin. “Dean…” he trailed off, his eyes drifting closed.  
“No, no, you’re okay. Cas, please. Wake up. You can’t do this to me now.”  
Castiel took a deep breath, falling back into sleep. Dean sighed in relief, calming down when he realized he didn’t have to say goodbye yet.  
~  
“Je suis désolé, Monsieur Winchester. Il n'y a rien que Je peux faire. Je vous recommande de dire vos adieux maintenant.”  
“Merci. Combien de temps faut-il?”  
“Quelques heures. Au revoir.”  
“Au revoir.” Dean closed the door after the doctor, sinking to the floor behind it. He took a few breaths to settle himself before going to Castiel. He stood up slowly, walking to the bedroom. For a moment, Dean gazed at Castiel, a light sheen of sweat on his face. His breath hitched and he coughed, his body convulsing with each one. Quickly, Dean rushed to his side, grabbing a handkerchief to wipe away the blood spotting the corners of Castiel’s mouth.  
“Cas, how are you feeling?” he put his hand on Castiel’s forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow.  
Castiel stirred under Dean’s touch, smiling when he saw him. “Hello, Dean.”  
“Cas… I-” Dean stopped, looking away from Castiel. “I’m so sorry.”  
Castiel propped himself on his elbows, confused. “What do you mean? I’m feeling much better. I’ll be alright. You’ll see.”  
“Are you sure, Castiel?”  
“Yes. What makes you think otherwise?”  
Dean shook his head. “Nothing.” He pressed his lips in a tight line, looking toward the ceiling.  
“There’s something you’re not telling me, Dean.” Castiel pushed himself higher, leaning against the headboard of the bed. “What did the doctor say?”   
“He told me… Cas, he told me to say my final goodbye today.” Dean stared straight at Castiel, his face betraying no emotion.  
“I promise, I’m-” Violent coughs consumed Castiel and he reached for the handkerchief in Dean’s hands, bringing it up to his mouth to catch the blood. Dean looked on helplessly, his hands balling into fists. When Castiel finally gasped for air, Dean sat beside him, tears filling his eyes.  
“Castiel, I didn’t want this to be over. I never wanted you to die. I guess I was just under the stupid impression that everything would be fine and that this disease would go away and you’d be fine. But you’re not, and I’m not ready to accept that.”  
“Now you get to read my book,” Castiel said, a wan smile on his face. “I think you’ll quite enjoy it. At least… what I have of it. I love you, Dean.”  
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it, reaching to Castiel and kissing him. “I love you,” he breathed when the kiss broke, keeping a hand on Castiel’s cheek. Dean took a deep breath, steadying himself, the taste of blood on his lips.  
“Stay with me,” Castiel said, his breath catching in his chest.  
“I will, Castiel. I will.” Dean kissed his forehead, closing his eyes. After a moment, he kissed Castiel again, putting as much of his goodbye into his touches as he could, not wanting to say the words out loud.  
Castiel fell into another coughing fit, his breathing slowing rapidly. His eyes locked onto Dean’s, watching as tears fell from his eyes.   
Castiel’s eyes closed and the grip he had on Dean’s hand loosened.  
“I love you,” he murmured, taking his last breath.  
“Goodbye, Cas,” Dean said, standing up. He brought a hand to his mouth, wiping away the bit of Castiel’s blood that was there.  
~  
After the funeral, Dean walked into the apartment, hesitating to sit at the table where all of Castiel’s work was.  
“It’s what he would have wanted,” Dean said to himself, taking a seat and grabbing the folder where Castiel had kept his writing. He opened it and slid the papers out, finally getting to see what Castiel had hidden from him. Dean smiled as he began reading. It was like Castiel had never left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French-English translation:  
> "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester. There is nothing I can do. I recommend you say your final goodbyes now."  
> "Thank you. How much time does he have?"  
> "A few hours. Goodbye."

**Author's Note:**

> French-English translation:
> 
> "Hello," "I'm looking for ... a ... apartment. "  
> "What is your nationality?"  
> "I'm American."  
> "Oh, Americain? Me, too. Do you speak English? "


End file.
